


Captain Kirk's Completely Logical Executive Decision

by flashdensity



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashdensity/pseuds/flashdensity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another redshirt dies in a ridiculous way. Captain Kirk makes an executive decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Kirk's Completely Logical Executive Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net back in 2010. Edited for some grammar mistakes.

The mission was going surprisingly well. The colonists were friendly, the colony was thriving, and there was no danger to be seen. It was nice to have a straightforward, simple mission for a change.

They did, however, need an extra pair of hands to lift a few supplies out of the storage shuttle. So Jim called up to the  _Enterprise_  and asked for a spare security officer to be beamed down.

There was a glow of gold as the security officer beamed onto the surface. As it faded, a man in a regulation red shirt stepped towards Jim, smiling pleasantly and saluting. Jim directed the officer to the supplies that needed lifting when he heard a strange growling noise beneath his feet.

One of the colonists heard it too, and looked around, asking, "What's that sound?"

Another colonist replied, "It sounds like an animal."

Jim reached instinctively for his phaser, but before he could draw it, an enormous bear-like creature erupted from beneath the ground. Upon closer inspection, Jim saw that though it was shaggy and as big as a bear, it had the jaws of a crocodile. With their luck of late, it was probably hostile.

His instinct proved correct. Before anyone could really do anything, it charged, leapt, and swallowed the security officer whole, leaving nothing but some tattered shreds of his red shirt behind. The creature then burrowed into the ground like a mole on steroids and disappeared from sight.

As the colonists panicked, running screaming for the nearest shelter, Jim picked up the remains of the red shirt and sighed.

*

"Damn it," Jim grumbled as he stepped off the transporter pad, holding the scraps of red cloth out for everyone to see. By everyone, he meant Scotty and Spock.

"Another one?" Scotty asked, eyes wide.

"Yep," Jim replied. "Eaten by a crocodile-bear-mole creature."

"Aye," Scotty said mournfully, going to a whiteboard behind the transporter that read "Days Without Incident" and resetting the number from 1 to 0.

Jim sighed, looking at the board wistfully. "Maybe someday we'll break three," he said.

He tossed the tattered shirt remains into the garbage. "Or maybe this whole ship is cursed."

"Illogical," Spock said. "If this ship were truly cursed, it would make no sense that neither you, nor I, nor doctor McCoy have met our untimely ends, seeing as we beam into hostile situations on a weekly basis. Although none of this matters, as curses do not exist."

"Yeah, I guess," Jim agreed, because about 16% of the time Spock insulting Jim’s logic was his weird Vulcan way of trying to make him feel better. Jim suspected this was one such instance. "C'mon Spock. To the bridge."

*

Scotty gaped as the Captain beamed back onto the  _Enterprise_ mere days later, bruised and bloody and again carrying the remains of a red shirt.

"What happened?" he asked.

Jim grimaced. His own shirt was coming off of him in tatters, hanging by scarce threads of yellow fabric. "Ninja butterflies. With razor wings."

*

Scotty watched apprehensively as Jim and an unnamed redshirt beamed away onto a planet inhabited solely by dust mites.

Seconds later, the Captain ordered a beam-up. His shoes were bubbling, but that was nothing compared to the charred remnants of a red shirt he held.

"Fire-breathing dust mites," Jim said by way of explanation.

*

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow as Jim beamed aboard clutching a single scrap of red cloth.

"Spontaneous human combustion," Jim muttered.

Spock's eyebrow climbed higher. "Illogical."

*

This time when Jim beamed aboard, the shirt he carried was intact, and the pants were slung over one shoulder as well. But the officer was nowhere in sight.

"Flesh-eating acid," Jim said before Scotty could ask. "It's harmless to clothing, though."

Instead of depositing the clothes in the trash bin labeled "red shirts," he took them down to the laundry.

*

Jim beamed aboard. "Mud monster," he gasped, using the red shirt to swipe at the grime around his nose and mouth, then tossing it to Scotty.

*

Jim winced, mopping blood off his arm with a shredded red sleeve. "Giant rabid rabbit creature."

*

Jim was wide-eyed as he stepped off the transporter pad, waving a ruined red shirt excitedly. "A _dragon_ Scotty! A _dragon._ It came right out of the sky!"

*

Jim huffed, dropping the red shirt onto the ground dazedly. "I don't know Scotty. I really don't."

*

They were in orbit above a class M planet. In a conference room, Jim was conferring with Spock.

"What is the mission from Starfleet again?" Jim asked.

"I am not entirely sure," Spock replied. "They were not exactly clear. All I know is that you must go down to the planet, accompanied by a member of security. What you will encounter there is unknown."

"Great," Jim said. "Well, bring a security officer by my quarters, then."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your quarters, Captain?"

"Don't question. Just do," Jim replied, running through a mental list of supplies he'd need.

*

The security officer arrived less than twenty minutes later. She went to salute him, but Jim just pulled her into his quarters and began throwing random garments at her.

She looked confused. "Sir?"

"Put those on," Jim instructed.

She began to look offended, but Jim reassured her, "No, I mean. Over your clothes."

Still confused, she nodded.

There was a short silence, then: "Sir, this appears to be chainmail."

Jim looked up from tying his shoes. "Oh? Yeah," he said. "Put it on."

She frowned, but complied.

Jim then picked up a bulletproof vest and handed it to her. "This too."

She obeyed wordlessly, figuring this was some sort of test.

But after he'd dressed her in shin-guards, kneepads, a padded space-jump helmet, a full suit of armor and a fire-retardant jumpsuit, she just figured that Captain Kirk was insane.

"Here," he said. He handed her a phaser, which she holstered into the huge utility belt he'd forced her into.

"And this," he said, handing her a broadsword in its scabbard. She eyed it warily before buckling it on.

"And this," he continued, handing her a pistol that she holstered opposite the phaser.

"Captain?" she asked tentatively.

"Almost done," he said. He threw her a light saber. She clicked it on and found that the blade was purple. She liked purple.

"And…" He handed her one last thing.

"A grappling hook?" she questioned incredulously.

"They come in handy," Jim explained. "Okay. You're ready."

*

Jim felt as reassured as he could be. He led the redshirt—tottering slowly after him under the enormous amount of extra padding—into the transporter room where Spock and Scotty were waiting.

Seeing the redshirt completely engulfed in protective wear and weapons, Spock raised an eyebrow in question.

"What?" Jim said defensively. "Cursed or not, nothing's gonna get  _this_  redshirt."

"Illogical," Spock replied, "to think the color of her shirt has anything to do with it."

Jim was good at ignoring Spock, and so he did. "Come on," he said, "let's go."

The officer climbed laboriously onto the transporter pad and turned, waiting for her captain.

Jim took a moment to check again with Spock. "We're absolutely sure it's safe down there?"

"Yes Captain," Spock replied. "The planet is uninhabited."

"Good," Jim said, feeling like his usual confident self again. He sprung easily onto the transporter pad and nodded to Scotty. "Energize."

*

The mission was slow going, because the security officer couldn't walk very fast under all her extra protection, and had to take rest stops every few moments to regain her breath.

Jim felt reasonably sure it was worth it. He would finally go one mission without losing anyone. Just to be safe, though, he had drawn his phaser, set it to kill, and spun occasionally on the spot to be sure they weren't being followed. He investigated every tree and bush they came across before letting the redshirt come near it.

The redshirt was getting annoyed. "Sir, I really think we're safe down here," she said impatiently as Jim turned over some suspicious-looking rocks, phaser at the ready.

He straightened up and sighed. "I suppose you're righ—"

Out of the clear blue sky, a bolt of lightning struck the redshirt, sending glowing sparks flying in all directions. The redshirt yelled out in surprise and fell.

"No!" Jim yelled, running to where she was laying, still smoking slightly from the electricity. "Oh no, no, no, no!"

He looked up at the clear sky where the lightning had come from. Inexplicably, the redshirt's charred red shirt fluttered dramatically from the sky on a gentle breeze. It landed softly on the grass beside him.

"Lightning!" he said. "Lightning, dammit!" He hadn't accounted for lightning.

The redshirt groaned in pain. "Captain?"

"Redshirt? You're alive!"

She groaned again. "Y…yeah."

Jim grinned triumphantly, but it fell when he realized that in the chaos after the lightning strike, the redshirt had dropped her phaser and her grappling hook.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and jumped to his feet to fetch the phaser where it had landed a few feet away.

"Captain…" the redshirt protested as Jim came back and forced the phaser into her hands.

He jumped to his feet again to begin searching for the grappling hook.

"Captain…" the redshirt repeated impatiently.

"Grappling hook, grappling hook…" Jim muttered absently. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Grappling hook!" Happy with his accomplishment, he fished the grappling hook out of a thorny bush.

"Captain," the redshirt said in frustration, "with all due respect, I don't  _need_  the goddamn grappling hook!"

With a loud crunching sound, a hole suddenly opened up in the ground beneath the redshirt and she plummeted into it with a shocked scream.

Wide-eyed, Jim ran to the edge of the hole and looked in, but saw only blackness for miles and miles.

He looked down at the grappling hook in his hands mournfully. If only she hadn't dropped it.

A random gust of wind suddenly blew the girl's charred red shirt into his face. He grabbed it and sighed.

*

"Attention, crew of the  _Enterprise,_ " Jim said into the intercom on his command chair. "This is your captain speaking."

Spock was watching Jim with a cocked eyebrow of confusion.

"Due to recent tragedies, I have been forced to make an executive decision."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"All red shirts are now banned from the  _Enterprise_. Even the regulation red shirts— _especially_  the regulation red shirts. They will all be incinerated later tonight. Anyone caught with a red shirt afterwards will be immediately demoted and reassigned to a less prestigious starship with considerably fewer shiny buttons and levers. Kirk out."

Jim looked to Spock defiantly, waiting for him to declare Jim's actions illogical and human. The eyebrow climbed higher.

_Here it comes…_

Then Spock looked down at the grappling hook that Jim now carried everywhere he went, just in case.

Spock looked back at Jim, his eyebrow lowering. "A logical decision, Captain."


End file.
